


If There's Something Strange in Your Neighborhood

by marauders_groupie



Series: Bellarke Halloween 2k15 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, everyone's magic, vampire!bellamy, witch!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake thought he had this vampire thing under control. And if it hadn't been for Clarke Griffin and her annoying tendency to fight him on everything, he wouldn't have outed himself as a vampire in the middle of his World History class.</p><p>Everyone is supernatural and I'm-pumped-about-Halloween AU!</p><p>*</p><p>Mostly based on the following prompt: "i'm a history major and i keep getting into arguments with one of my classmates about things because they keep saying i'm wrong so i finally scream, 'how would you know!??' and they're like, 'because i was THERE!' and that's how we all find out that there is a centuries-old vampire taking our British history class"</p>
            </blockquote>





	If There's Something Strange in Your Neighborhood

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always little late to the party but who says I can't write a Halloween AU? Here, have some! *sprinkles fairy dust over you*
> 
> Title from Ghostbusters' theme song.

Okay, so Bellamy’s been through some shit in the six centuries he’s spent living his vampire existence on this planet. Some of the things he had to put up with made him more tolerant and patient, and now that he’s going on 620 he’s pretty proud to say that there aren’t that many things that can piss him off.

But Clarke Griffin gets him going every single time and he regrets enrolling into Ark High so he could keep an eye on Octavia, and especially regrets having to share the desk in World History classroom with the most annoying person he’s ever met.

And he met Napoleon, which – yeah, the guy had some issues he clearly needed to work through.

That’s why he rolls his eyes and stands up from his chair, interrupting Clarke on another one of her rants about aristocracy and all the faults of monarchs in France before the revolution.

She narrows her eyes at him, cocking one eyebrow up as if daring him to contradict her on this one, and he never could say no to a challenge.

(620 years old and he’s still a stupid teenager, or so Octavia claims.)

“I think Clarke is wrong,” he states, not even looking towards their teacher, Mr. Kane, who is supposed to be the one monitoring the discussion but very clearly fails at doing so.

Or he and Clarke are just too hard to rein in and the man already gave up on trying. Yeah, that might be it.

Clarke scoffs. “What a shocker.”

“I think Clarke is wrong because there is absolutely no historical evidence that Marie Antoinette actually said ‘Let them eat cake’. The quote is actually from Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s autobiography, Confessions, and he was recalling a story he supposedly heard of a princess who told the peasants who had no bread that they should eat _brioche_. Brioche is not cake and Marie Antoinette was 10 when Rousseau wrote the book.”

Clarke glares at him and if looks could kill, she would be the first one to figure it out. Bellamy is barely done proving his point when she moves towards him, all steel and defiance as she gets into his face and hisses.

“Fight me, Blake.”

Murphy groans somewhere behind them and there’s an audible thud when he slams his head on his desk. “Not again!”

“Shut up, Murphy,” Bellamy hisses, motioning for Clarke to continue. She’s pretty fucking annoying and she makes his blood boil like no one else but if she wants to be wrong – she has the right to be.

Usually he agrees with her when she’s on about privilege and merits of democracy as opposed to aristocracy, but this is just ridiculous. Bellamy _knew_ Marie Antoinette and not only that she didn’t say that, but she was actually a nice person. Still got guillotined but, hey, what can you do.

“You do know that there’s no evidence that she _didn’t_ say that, right?” Clarke argues. “And even if she didn’t – that part of history is full of people like her. Let the peasants die so we can organize lavish balls and reproduce with our cousins! “

She’s getting redder and redder every second she spends talking and Bellamy finds himself transfixed looking at her. There is a good reason why a lot of people in their school are scared of Clarke Griffin and even he has to admit that she’s pretty frightening when she gets all riled up.

“You are making zero sense, Griffin!” he throws his hands up, totally done with this. “And you’re just plain _wrong_!”

“How would _you_ know!?”

Something inside of him snaps and the words are coming out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Because I was there!”

Clarke’s lips part, forming a small ‘o’, and her eyes widen in obvious surprise. Her reaction is much better than everyone else’s – even Murphy pauses on his way to slam his head into the desk again, and most of their class’ jaws are wide open.

He sits down, shuts up, but there’s a flood of questions coming from everyone and only then does Kane remember that he’s their teacher and yells at them to quiet down.

They’re all still sneaking glances at him and he scowls, scribbling down nonsense in his notebook. He hates high school and he shouldn’t have let Octavia pressure him into doing all of this again just because she likes being on the soccer team and making new friends.

Clarke is the only one who stares straight ahead, not deigning to say anything, until the bell rings and her bag is slung over her shoulder when she whirls around to face him in the hallway.

“So, you wanna work on the English Lit project today?”

He blinks, confused, and she grins.

She’s aggravating but she’s also his closest friend in this town – it’s a love/hate relationship they’ve got going on. Most of the time they just like pushing each other’s buttons and Octavia claims that Clarke is an asshole just like him so they should get along.

“Good, see you after school. You’re driving, my shitty car broke down again.”

Bellamy isn’t sure how to respond to her sudden cheerfulness. It isn’t weird that she’s cheerful after a heated argument – she always is, and so is he. They don’t _hate_ each other. What’s weird is that she’s cheerful and nonchalant even after he practically declared himself a vampire in the middle of his World History class.

Jasper isn’t quite as composed about it and Bellamy nostalgically reminisces his glory moments with Clarke when the boy with goggles perched on top of his head can’t shut up right next to him. Bellamy learned how to space out when Jasper’s in one of his talkative moods but then he notices that the boy is staring pointedly at him and he huffs.

“What?”

“I asked you if you could turn me.”

“Turn you?”

“Yeah, like, you bite me and then I sleep in a coffin for a night – or, do you have to bury me? I’m pretty sure I saw that in True Blood once and I’m not sure I’m down for _that_ but –“

His life is a fucking joke.

“That’s the first thing you want to know?” Bellamy asks, poking a suspicious-looking meatloaf on his plate. School lunches suck.

Thankfully, he’s spared of Jasper’s further rambling because Raven and Monty sit down on the bench next to him and Raven peers at him over Monty’s shoulder, a teasing smirk plastered across her face.

“So, heard you’re a vampire, Blake. Pretty cool. Are you old enough to have met Tesla?”

Monty’s eyes spread wide and he stares at Bellamy. “Shit, wait, did you meet Einstein? Were you _close_ with Einstein?”

Bellamy stabs his meatloaf again, growling. “And _I’m_ a nerd.”

 

By the time he crosses the school parking lot and notices Clarke leaning against his truck, he’s got a talk with Principal Jaha (“ _Well, Mr. Blake, your personal affairs don’t concern us in the slightest – as long as you fulfill your duties on time_.”), two conversations in which he had to refuse to turn someone and Jasper’s proposal that he experiment on Bellamy under his belt and frankly, all he wants is someone to freak out about this.

He’s a vampire. It’s not like he just said that he likes Beach Boys, which – they probably would’ve been more shocked by that. In any case, everyone’s acting way too normal and it’s throwing him off balance.

The lack of pitchfork-wielding villagers getting ready to burn him on a pyre is very welcome but it’s still weird that everyone just takes it in stride.

Clarke is grinning at him when he approaches her and he stops in his tracks, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you gonna be really weirdly chill about this, too?”

“About what?”

“Come on, Princess. I did confess to being a vampire.”

Princess is also another one of their stupid nicknames, namely his one for her, and he doesn’t even remember how it first happened – probably something he came up with because she does hold herself up like a royal and she’s got this unnerving blonde hair and really intense blue eyes and –

She’s annoying. Everything about her is annoying, that’s it. He definitely does not have a crush on her like Octavia says. Clarke is 602 years younger than him – it’d be creepy.

“Yeah, and I’m a witch,” she deadpans and before he’s had time to process that, she’s throwing her bag in the backseat of his truck and climbing in, honking the horn. “Hurry the hell up!”

The drive to his house is mostly quiet, except for the moments when they break the silence to sing along to Taylor Swift on the radio or when Clarke feels the need to make fun of him for one thing or the other.

It’s nice. They’re friends. Sort of.

It doesn’t help that she likes Octavia more than she likes him, if the fact that O throws herself into her arms as soon as she sees her is anything to go by.

“Clarke! Shit, you’ve gotta come to Miller’s Halloween party with me! It’s going to be _awesome_!”

Octavia is really serious and levelheaded when she needs to be – she saved Bellamy’s ass way too many times, but if she can choose she’ll pick partying and shooting the shit with her friends. ( _“It’s fun, Bell. You’ve heard of fun, right?”)_

“Bell got an invite, too,” Clarke tells her and only then does Octavia notice that her older brother is standing in the doorway, still at a loss.

He did get an invite from Miller – who mostly just scowls in everyone’s direction – because _“You’re a vampire and shit, man. That’s cool.”_

For the better part of the day he wasn’t even sure if no one believed him or they just really thought it was interesting.

“Also,” Clarke adds, a wry smile on her face, “he blew your cover today.”

Octavia scoffs. “Figures Bell wouldn’t be able to secure an invite without trying to make himself sound all exotic.”

He gets coffee for all three of them and Octavia stalks off to skype with the boyfriend of the month, Lincoln (who Bellamy’s got a nagging feeling will stick around), leaving Bellamy and Clarke sitting at the kitchen table.

She’s still oddly calm and he finally can’t take it anymore so he slaps his palms flat on the table, making her jerk slightly.

“How are you okay with this? I just told everyone I’m a vampire and no one cares!”

He sounds desperate. Really, he is sort of desperate.

“Do you not believe me? Is that it?”

Clarke rolls her eyes again, lifting her head from where she’d been reading a book they need to write a report on, and levels him with a thoroughly unimpressed glare.

“I believe you.”

“So what is it?”

“Just do your stupid reading,” she mutters, returning back to her book and he stares for a while before deciding to give up.

He’s nearly over with the last chapter of Balzac’s Old Goriot when he glances up, having heard a popping noise, and it isn’t until he sees the teaspoon swirling in Clarke’s coffee cup on its own that he shrieks, recoiling from the table and falling off of his chair in the process.

“What the fuck is that!?” he demands, pointing a finger at the teaspoon that’s still moving in a circular motion. Clarke looks confused, throws a glance at it and then frowns.

“I told you. I’m a witch.”

Bellamy isn’t sure he heard her right. “Can you repeat that?”

“I’m a witch. Spells, charms and shit. Can hex you into the next week. Can’t turn someone into a frog, though,” she pouts, shrugging and it actually looks cute – her nose scrunches up a little and his first instinct is to hug her.

He shakes it off, picks himself up from the floor and when he’s done gaping at the spoon, Clarke has already closed the book and she’s smiling at him like he’s the most clueless person in the world and she finds it amusing.

Which he probably is. And she probably does find it amusing.

“And no one thought to tell me?”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s weird. My dad is a vampire too,” she shrugs and continues despite Bellamy’s obvious shock. “Wells, his dad and Miller are werewolves. Lincoln is too. Monty is a fairy but he’ll kill you if you call him that in a condescending way. And Finn is a siren which made it really awkward when I accidentally heard him sing.”

She winces at the memory.

“And Raven?” Bellamy asks, since they’re all apparently supernatural.

Clarke grins. “Raven is just awesome.”

He nods, still trying to understand how it is that Ark seems to be a supernatural oasis. It’s pretty cool that Clarke is a witch and she’s probably very good at self-control since she hasn’t hexed him once.

Bellamy met some cool witches in his time. But he also knows about some questionable practices and he just has to ask her –

“Do you like, do blood sacrifice?”

“Do you drink human blood?”

He shrugs. “Okay, that’s fair.”

The whole myth about vampires draining their victims is so wrong. He’s pretty sure that he threw up the last time he tried drinking it – who could stomach that shit? Meat on the rare side is usually enough for sustenance.

Clarke seems to think about something and then she chuckles, leaning forward with her chin resting on the heel of her hand.

“We don’t do blood sacrifice anymore. Although, I have this really cool app-“

She rummages through her bag and comes up with her cellphone, tapping away at it a couple of times before she slides it over to him.

It’s an app. An app for spells.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Bellamy. We’ve got some cool stuff.”

He sticks his tongue out at her but she’s not fazed and he’s got to admit that he has yet to see a sight more impressive than Clarke Griffin sitting in his kitchen and laughing at him, all teeth and mirth.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s minding his own business, coming up with a PowerPoint presentation for their English Lit project in the library when Octavia sidles up to him.

“Hey, big bro. What’s up?”

It’s been a really surreal week. Halloween is drawing closer, everyone’s up to their eyeballs in preparation which suddenly makes more sense than it did before, and his argument of “I was there” when he’s trying to win a debate with Clarke is slowly growing old. Murphy continues banging his head against the desk and begging for “sweet relief of death” and Clarke just rolls her eyes – _“That’s really weak. Fuck you, Blake.”_

Oddly enough, his main problem right now is trying to integrate himself in the supernatural community. So far, there is no animosity between different species. He guesses that it’s mostly because everyone likes Monty’s home-brewed liquor and the parents need to get along because their kids stay together no matter what so it’s better if they’re safe.

Also, he met Abby and Jake Griffin and that’s a pair of really influential people on whose bad side he doesn’t want to get.

He clears his throat but Octavia cuts him off, waving her hand in a dismissive motion. “I don’t really care. I know everything.”

Somehow, that sounds like a threat. It probably _is_ a threat.

“I know you do,” he huffs, still disappointed that Clarke told Octavia about being a witch earlier than she’d told him. “You steal all of my friends.”

“And don’t you ever forget it,” she grins and then throws a look over her shoulder to see if anyone’s around. Thankfully, the library is mostly empty. “Okay, so, Clarke.”

“What about her?”

He wonders why is it that all of the women in his life look so completely unimpressed with him. Is it something about his face?

“You want to have her babies,” she deadpans.

“O, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Her features soften and she slings an arm around his shoulders, bringing the two of them cheek to cheek. “Oh, you poor sap. You are so in love.”

“Are we even talking about the same Clarke?”

“Clarke Griffin, a witch, about this tall,” she raises her hand to her chin, “what she lacks in height she makes up for in spunk, gets you all hot and bothered when she fights you on history and could probably turn you into a frog.”

He remembers her sad face when she told him that she can’t do that and his heart swells with affection, just a little. Alright, a whole lot.

Octavia must sense what he’s thinking about because she shoots up from her chair and lets out a triumphant cheer. “Yes! I knew it!”

“So you were just fishing for my confession?”

“You know me so well. Anyways, why do you always have hots for girls who could kill you? Is that like a really weird fetish – no, wait – don’t tell me.”

“I don’t know why you’re getting all worked up, O. It’s not going to happen.”

His sister lets out an exasperated sigh, muttering under something about ‘stupid older brothers’ under her breath.

“Is this about you being a vampire again?”

“It’s – you make it sound like it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t!” she protests. Octavia is what made him become this way in the first place. She was sick, on her deathbed, and only by a stroke of really morbid luck did he manage to find a vampire in their village – a man that went by the name of Shumway.

Those were different times, all pitchforks and pyres, and the only way he could keep Octavia safe from Shumway and his band after her transition or from being chased around by an angry mob was that he turns into a vampire as well.

It was fun the first two hundred years, watching history being made, and then the novelty wore off. After the First World War, he packed himself and Octavia up and they moved to America, intent on being as anonymous as possible.

The variations of their names would forever be written in history books but right now they were happy being who they first were. Bellamy and Octavia Blake, siblings, survivors, teenagers.

It still didn’t mean that he was content with being immortal. There would be no romantic love story and a happy ending for him – only seeing the person he loves die, or having no choice but to turn them. It was a solitary existence and Octavia was much stronger than him for coming to terms with it and deciding to just enjoy things while they last.

He always was a brooding sap.

“Okay, so what happens? We fall in love, we have a wonderful life and then I watch her die. And she watches me live, not aging a single minute. In which world doesn’t that matter?”

“Bell-“ For all of her bravado and hurricane-like behavior, flurry of wild movements and long brown hair, Octavia is nearly as old as he is and she’s seen the same things. That’s why she is soft underneath her hard shell and Bellamy’s heart always breaks a little, in a good way, when he hears her talk to him softly.  
  
“She’s a witch, Bell. Look at her mom, look at her dad – they make it work. Maybe she has a spell for that and maybe it doesn’t matter. You can’t live your life like this, brother, too afraid to get attached to people because they might leave you. People leave, and it doesn’t matter if they die or they leave on their own – they do that. But every now and then, there is someone – someone it’s a privilege to love. Maybe that’s how you have to look at it. If you don’t love and don’t risk getting your heart broken, then – is it really worth it?”

He’s speechless, unsure of whether he’d ever heard her speak like that. They allow themselves to forget their real age and the weight of their acts but in the end – that’s who they are. They are old and they have seen too much and maybe it really is time for him, the one with inspirational talks that have motivated armies to march in the past, to try being brave like this. To try and be a real human.

Octavia smiles knowingly when he pecks her cheek and pats his shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Clarke is great. She might not even care that you’re 620 years old.”

“Thanks for the support, O.”

“Just saying,” she shrugs but there is a huge smile on her face and he knows that he made the right decision six centuries ago.

 

Clarke corners him after one World History class, nearly slamming him into his locker as he tries not to cower under her gaze.

“Why don’t you fight me anymore?”

A chuckle slips from his lips because - really, that’s what she’s worried about? Everyone already told him that he was acting weird around her, it was either obvious or Octavia just made them bother him, and this is what Clarke Griffin was worried about.

Freud would have a field day analyzing their relationship.

“Why don’t I _fight_ you?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know you’re old but I didn’t know you had problems with hearing.”

To be honest, everyone in the class was expecting the two of them to fight after Clarke started talking about the Industrial Revolution but Bellamy mostly tried not to stare at her in amazement.

He’s got fucking _butterflies_ in his stomach when he thinks of her and it’s torture. When she’s near, though, he’s split between acting like a total love-struck teen and ignoring her because he’s focused on which pesticide he’ll buy to get rid of the butterflies. This was such a bad idea.

“I – you were right. Totally right. Nothing to fight you on.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him, a mischievous smile tugging on her lips. “I literally said it all began with Henry VIII.”

“Well – you know – is there evidence that it didn’t?”

Her eyes narrow to two slits, only barely letting the blue out, and he shivers a little. “Are you sick?”

“I’m not – do you want to maybe go with me? To the party.”

She blinks, surprised. “Um, sure. Yes, I’d like that.” Then she seems to realize what he’s actually asking her and bites into her cheek. She probably wants to laugh at him and he doesn’t blame her.  
“You want to get matching costumes?”

“Seriously?” he smiles, and it’s only half-mocking. He likes the idea more than he should.

“Deadly. I’ll be a vampire and you can be a witch. Well,” she frowns, “a warlock.”

“Sounds good.”

She turns around on her heel, setting foot for the cafeteria but he doesn’t let out a breath until she stops, turns around again and flashes the most shit-eating grin he’d seen in his whole life. And he’s good at shit-eating grins.

“I’m onto you, Blake!”

He’s going to chug the pesticide. He is.

 

* * *

 

 

Jasper and Monty flank him when they arrive at Miller’s house. Bellamy isn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t this – a normal, suburban house, now decorated with fake cobwebs and gigantic spiders made out of silicone on the ceiling.

It’s really cool, he has to admit. For a vampire, he never cared that much about Halloween, but now he’s dressed up as a warlock (which mostly included Octavia rolling her eyes and sticking a two-dollar witch hat on top of his head, telling him to just wear something black and jeans – “ _Modern witch AU, Bell_ ”) and he can totally understand why people want to dance to Monster Mash and come up with awful mask-related pick-up lines.

Jasper is a vampire, Dracula-style cape and everything, and he proudly spins around for Bellamy to see. “I’ve got fake fangs and everything, look!”

Bellamy grins, forcing his fangs to extend. He’s been told that it’s not the best look on him but it’s kind of cool, and scary. “Mine are better.”

“Dude!” Jasper exclaims. “That’s so awesome!”

Monty manages to drag him away, sputtering apologies while the gauzes making up his mummy mask trail behind him, and Bellamy looks over the crowd in search of Clarke.

“You looking for Clarke?”

Werewolves are scary, Bellamy decides. He’s always liked Wells Jaha – in a way that you can like an absolute pacifist goody two-shoes, but he’s got to admit that the guy can creep up on you like no one else. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing. Probably not, but he’s going to chalk it up to that anyways.

“Yeah, have you seen her?”

“Nah, but she’ll be here soon,” Wells smiles, handing him a red solo cup that smells like rat poison and cherry syrup. “Monty’s moonshine. It’s disgusting until you get used to it.”

“Thanks, Jaha.”

“Well,” the boy shrugs, “we supernatural folks have got to stick together.”

And maybe he’s right, Bellamy thinks. He and Octavia have been roaming around on their own for too long. They had acquaintances, made occasional friends but in the end it was always be the two of them and an endless spread of road in front of them.

It feels good to have a home.

People come and go, usually chatting with him for a few minutes or so, and he keeps standing by the bar because he’s starting to get worried if Clarke will even show. She said she would, Wells confirmed it, but Bellamy still isn’t sure if she even likes him.

Moonshine helps, the music does too – he’s swaying lightly to the beat when he hears a husky voice in his ear and the hot breath on his cheek sends shivers down his spine.

“You look good enough to _eat_.”

It takes him a moment to recognize Clarke under the dimmed lights and she’s – alright, he thinks she’s gorgeous all the time, especially when her cheeks get red and she’s getting into his face saying “Fight me” – but this is something else.

He feels seriously underdressed in his jeans when she’s wearing a skin-tight black dress, red cape with raised collar slung over her shoulders, and her hair braided into a crown on top of her head. There is something sultry about the way she smirks at him and he is 620 years old but she’s going to be the death of him.

“Was that a pick-up line?”

“Depends. Did it work?”

The spell only lasts for a few seconds because someone shoves him and then Clarke is laughing. That looks even better and he’s so gone it’s not even funny anymore.

“I’ve got another one,” she tells him as she laces her fingers through his, rounding the room. “If you were a blood type, you’d be my favorite.”

He’s having a hard time thinking, processing and doing anything, really, because her pick-up lines are the worst but she’s brilliant and gorgeous and she’s also Clarke-fucking-Griffin.

“Those are good, really – uh, good.”

She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything until she both of them have a refill of moonshine in their hands and they’re on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of Miller’s living room, jumping up and down because it’s basically the only thing they can do in the mass of gyrating hips.

It’s hard not to look at her and he has to keep reminding himself to keep his jaw shut because she’s smiling at him while they’re singing along to a song blaring from the speakers, and he’s way too old for her but he’s not a day older than eighteen when she’s next to him.

When the Ghostbusters theme songs finishes its fifth repetition that night, Clarke takes his hand and interlaces their fingers as she pushes through the crowd. Octavia grins at him when they pass her and Lincoln on their way to the patio and he just hopes that he’s got a chance with Clarke because that’s all he needs.

He really is a poor sap.

The cool air hits his lungs and he inhales, not really needing to. One of the perks of being undead – unlimited time underwater. It’s still nice to breathe, though, just to remind himself of what it was like.

Clarke is standing under a lamp, her hair glistening in the light, and Bellamy brings a hand to her cheek. It’s hot from all the jumping and dancing they’ve done but she’s blushing as well, a rare sight that makes his heart warm.

It hasn’t beaten in a very long time but it really wants to, he can feel it.

“You’re my favorite, too,” he whispers, watching her pupils dilate looking at him and then her gaze drops to his lips.

It’s only the slightest of seconds that makes both of them rush forward – Clarke standing up on her toes and Bellamy leaning down, closing the distance with a firm press of their lips.

She tastes like Monty’s awesome moonshine and most of all, she is Clarke and kissing her makes happiness surge out of him – everything is euphoria and he wants to laugh so hard because he was so stupid for such a long time.

They break apart too suddenly, with an audible groan from Clarke as Bellamy realizes that she could have qualms about it if she knew how old he was.

“Clarke, I think you need to know that I’m 620 years old.”

“I know,” she scowls. “And I don’t care. Get over here already.”

“You are eighteen.”

She sighs, moving away to lean on the fence. “I know that, too. I know a lot of shit, Bellamy. Most of all, I know that I just really want to make out with you now.”

He still can’t believe it and she scrunches up her nose when she notices how wide his eyes are. “Well, you _are_ kind of old. Probably moldy, too.”

“I’m not moldy!” he protests and Clarke just lets out a bright, vivacious laugh, stepping closer to him and nudging at his arms until he wraps them around her.

“I don’t think it matters. You’re still my favorite. Only – you need to fight me now, okay?”

Her eyes are wide and serious and Bellamy is pretty sure that this is a dream.

“Fight you?”

“Yeah – fight me, on anything. I missed fighting with you,” she pouts. “That was the highlight of my day.”

Yeah, the two of them are going to be just fine and dandy.

 

* * *

 

 

He still fights her in World History, the only difference now that it leads to steamy make out sessions in spare classrooms. Most of the student body walked in on them and they exchange stories like war veterans. Wells informed him that they’re starting up a club for all those traumatized by Bellamy and Clarke.

Octavia is surprisingly intent on staying with Lincoln and Bellamy can’t say that he minds. The two of them haven’t had friends and home in a long while, but now they’ve got a house and a social circle. Also, Clarke assured him that there is a way to help them if they don’t want to stay immortal so he’s pretty happy with his life right now.

“Hey,” Clarke pecks his cheek one morning, pestering him at his locker as per usual. Only this time she brings her index fingers to her temples, mockingly staring into the distance. He has experience with her. “I see a date in our future.”

“You know you’re not psychic, right? And that doesn’t work if we’re already dating.”

“Alright, then,” she raises her skirt just above her ankles, smirking at him. “I think my striped socks would look really good on your bedroom floor.”

And they really do.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually a little embarassed to admit that I spent way too much time googling vampire and witch pick up lines. But hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. 
> 
> Hope you liked it anyways and if you did - please remember the dynamic duo: kudos and comments! I seriously love hearing what you think about my fics and appreciate it a lot. You're all lovely and thank you for reading! 
> 
> Stay tuned for Halloweentown AU which is already being written since I'm a sucker for that movie.
> 
> p.s. if you've got prompts, cookies, anything - i'm right [here](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com). i promise i don't bite (see what i did there?)


End file.
